POLLY: (Rolling on the ground while she speaks.) Polly wants a motherfucking cracker.

GERTRUDE: Get ahold of yourself, bird!

GERTRUDE slaps POLLY across the beak.

POLLY: Damnit, Gertrude, was that really necessary?

GERTRUDE: You need to sober up so we can make a plan.

POLLY: You’re still drinking.

GERTRUDE: I can hold my liquor in a more masterful manner than ye, can’t I?

POLLY: I really need some food. Wasn’t kidding about that cracker. How can it be that only liquor washed ashore in the wreck and no food? We’re going to drink ourselves to death. At least will be drunk and happy.

GERTRUDE: By my calculations, we’re somewheres in the Bahamas. When we’ve rested, we need to walk around the edge of the island, marking out our steps.

POLLY: None of that is going to do us any good without any FOOD.

GERTRUDE: Quiet, bird!

POLLY: I can’t believe I chose to fly to your raft. I should have flown to the Captain.

GERTRUDE: Oh, the Captain who steered us straight into the ear of that storm, eh?

POLLY: Nobody’s perfect.

GERTRUDE: Polly, I didn’t want to bring this up before, but I do have some food on me, and I’m willing to share until we find more on this island.